Never Fear (48 page)

Immobilized with fear, Nicholas could
do nothing but stare into a face so like his own, but the face of a
murderer. The dark place in Nicholas’s mind opened, and suppressed
memories came rushing back. Bile churned in his stomach and filled
his throat as he stumbled to his feet. “It was you,” he cried. “You
killed my parents and all those townspeople.”

The figure snorted. “Now you’re
getting a conscience? I only did what you didn’t have the guts to
do yourself. He gently began to swing the axe back and forth.
“You’re the one who despises Christmas. Isn’t it you who hated your
parents for forcing you to dress like an elf and walk in the
Christmas parade, spend hours helping to bake cookies and string
popcorn for the tree, crawl on the snowy roof stringing lights and
hanging wreaths?”

“
You’re pure evil. I never
wanted you to kill anyone,” Nicholas cried. “I just wanted
Christmas to go away.”

“
You should have thought
of that before you once again wished for me to come.”

Nicholas’s entire body went cold. With
a barely audible voice, he said, “I never wished for
you.”

The figure shrugged. “Believe what you
want, we both know the truth. I have done your bidding. What’s done
is done.”

Sudden panic beyond anything he’d ever
felt coursed through Nicholas. The house was still too quiet. Where
were Candace and his children? They should have been up by now. He
had to swallow twice before his words would come. “Where are my
wife and children?”

The figure only smiled.

For the first time since he’d entered
the living room, Nicholas took in the rest of his surroundings.
Like an automaton, he slowly walked through the destruction heading
toward the kitchen, dreading with every step what he might find.
His scream echoed throughout the house as he fell to his knees next
to Candace’s headless body. “Candace, no.” he sobbed. As he knelt
on the floor, a fierce hatred burned in his eyes. “My children.
What have you done with my children?”

Again the figure shrugged. “I believe
they were going skating.”

A bellow of anguish and rage filled
the air as Nicholas tore the bloody axe from the figure’s
grasp.

A loud pounding began at the front
door. “Police, let us in.”

The axe dropped from Nicholas’s hand.
“I will not pay for what you did.”

The figure laughed. “Nicholas, you
know who I am.”

Before Nicholas could take a step, the
front door burst open and, with his gun drawn, Officer Yule,
followed by Candace’s father charged in, more police right behind
them.

“
There’s the murdering
monster,” Candace’s father exclaimed. He charged at Nicholas, but
was restrained by two police officers.

“
Nicholas Klaus, I’m
arresting you on suspicion of multiple murders,” Officer Yule
stated as he brought out his handcuffs.

Nicholas began to back away. “I’m
innocent. You have to believe me. He’s the one you want.” Nicholas
pointed behind him. “Not me.”

Officer Yule narrowed his eyes.
“Playing games isn’t going to help. Now come with me.”

“
I’m not playing games,”
Nicholas shouted. “Arrest
him
.” Again Nicholas pointed to
where the figure had been standing.

“
Arrest who?” Officer Yule
asked.

“
Him.” Nicholas turned to
see nothing but a little carved figure of a man cutting down a tree
laying on the floor at his feet.

A FAMILY CHRISTMAS
TERROR

CHAPTER 15

“
I’m glad you read that
story during the appetizers, Daddy,” Nancy said. “That was a little
too gory for me. Can
you read another one?
This is fun, even if the stories are pretty awful. I’m glad I’m not
reading them at night alone in my bed.”

“
Really,” Nick said,
dipping his remaining shrimp into his sister’s cocktail sauce.
“From what I hear you’re never alone in bed.”

“
Oh shit,” Jack said under
his breath.

Nancy turned on Nick. “At
least I’m not failing all my classes! You’re such an
asshole
.”

“
Enough!”
Judy yelled and held up a hand at Dan who was
about to interject. “We’ll discuss this tomorrow. You two are not
going to ruin my Christmas dinner with your bickering.”

Jack popped a roll into his mouth and
started to speak.

“
And
you
...” Judy pointed her finger at
him. “...
don’t
talk with your mouth full.”

Jack swallowed hard. “Sorry,
Mom.”

Nancy turned to her father. “Daddy,
can I read the next story?”

“
Maybe we should eat
first,” Grandpa said.

“
I
have
to know what the next story
is,” Nancy said, a little too vehemently.

Dan nodded at his daughter. “Yeah. Me
too. We’ve broken every other tradition today... Why not? Any
objections?”

The family didn’t say a word. Even
Judy begrudgingly gave in. “What’s next, Nancy?” she
asked.

Nancy took the book from
Dan. “
A Cabin In The
Woods
.”

A CABIN IN THE
WOODS

LIAH PENN

Well, there it was, not quite as I
remembered it; smaller, really, with faded blue paint on the
paneled front door, the screen door coming off the hinges. I
circled to the side and looked up at the closed shutters of the
high loft window, one of them hanging precariously, like a small
boy might hang from an apple tree. The house still had the massive
trellis which held beach plumbs in the summer months, now only
tendrils of dead and brittle vine, weaving through the slats. The
snow dusted everything in crystalline splendor. It was December. It
was my first Christmas back since my brother’s death.

I stood in front of the cabin, its
façade still smiling, though gap toothed, now, with a broken pane
in the upper storm window, and paint peeling from the front
baluster. There were hatch marks by the front door, tiny slits cut
into the frame with initials carved next to them. I found mine,
still two inches beneath my chin. The painted deck was marbled by
the countless wheels of match box cars, racing down the slope to
the other side, the occasional traffic accident, and sometime
pedestrian mishap along the way. The faded door, although still in
need of work, seemed to wink at me as the screen door flapped in
the breeze. It needed so much work. I hoped my family could see
past the decay to what remained.

Tommy Harris, Pinky McGraw and Izzy
Thomas ran these steps, hung from the railings and sulked, at
times, in the dark corner of the front porch swing. Specters, now,
swirling through my memory like winged insects we had collected on
the beach and in the woods, captured momentarily in mason jars,
then set free. I ran my fingers along the porch swing, now dry
rotted, the paint chipped and peeling. It was here a first kiss was
given, many years later, with Izzy Thomas, running my fingers
through her salty hair, our mouths tasting of the brackish lake and
beach plumbs plucked from the vine. It was here that they laid my
brother’s body, dripping wet, across the planks.

“
Phillip?” My wife came up
the pathway, an overnight bag trailing behind her in the snow. “Oh
my goodness. It looks so…”

“
I know. It needs work.” I
came to her on the pathway and planted a kiss on her lips, tasting
a bit of the past, sweet and salty. She pulled away.

“
We need help,” she said.
Her voice cut like a finely honed knife.

I took the overnight bag from her hand
and plodded up the path to the front door. The lock on the door was
old and rusting and it took several tries before I could pry it
open. The wood, swollen and abandoned, scraped across the hardwood
floor. From behind me, my wife groaned, as if anticipating the
damage I had just caused.

“
Maybe in the spring…” I
said, but she cut me off.

“
Just help the boys, would
you?”

I deposited the bag a few steps into
the cabin and left her there to sort out the light switches and
heat. Trudging back down the path to the car, I saw my boys, Alex
and Freddy, running up the driveway toward me.

“
We met a friend!” They
nearly tackled me as they grabbed my arms and tried to pull me down
to the roadway.

“
Good for you,” I said.
“But first we have to unpack.” I shook them from me like squid
tentacles and pulled out the key fob. With a click, I opened the
trunk and gestured to the piles of luggage, games and sporting
equipment the boys had packed. “Start bringing it up to the cabin.
Just follow the path.”

Alex and Freddy grabbed the nearest
armload of stuff and headed toward the cabin. I poked around the
trunk and pulled out the heaviest items. The boys could bring their
skates and footballs; I would bring the luggage.

My wife had put the heat on and opened
up the dusty curtains to let in light. The whole cabin was layered
in a decade’s worth of dust. My parents had been the last to stay
here, spending the last summer of my father’s life by the lake. I
had stayed away, then, newly married and expecting our first child,
Alex. By the time Freddy was born, three years later, both of my
parents were gone and the lake house sat empty and unused, mired in
probate as my parents’ wealth was allocated among their surviving
four children.

They voted to give me the cabin. My
siblings, that is.

“
You need to spend some
time out there. Healing time,” my sister said.

“
I don’t need a cabin in
the woods,” I replied. But she pushed the ancient keys into my hand
and turned away. It was settled. I had the cabin, like it or
not.

“
I wish you’d told me how
dirty it was going to be,” my wife said, her fingers trailing on
the table, a wad of dust building on her fingertip.

“
I didn’t think.” I turned
to leave, to get another load from the car.

“
That’s the problem,” she
said. “You never think.”

I let the comment hang in the air,
unsuspended by any response. This was how she was going to be, I
thought. I wondered if coming here had been a good idea after all.
From the front porch, looking out across woods and down the hill, I
could see where the tree line ended and the lake began. The bitter
cold had done its work and the lake appeared frozen solid, like all
of those Christmases of my childhood. A vast expanse of ice to play
hockey on. Just us boys.

I shook the thought from my mind. It
had been a long time since I had skated.

The boys flew past me, their open
jackets billowing out behind them like super-hero capes. No hats.
No gloves. Their spirit and joy keeping them warm and
alive.

“
C’mon, Dad!” Alex called
over his shoulder. I heard the door slam shut behind me. I followed
after them, shuffling like an old man, down the pathway and toward
the car.

I pulled my ice skates from the trunk.
I’d brought them along because they had asked me to. I had no
intention of skating. Not now.

“
We should sell this
place,” my wife said, throwing another sheet onto a pile on the
floor. “We could get a place on the beach with what we get for
this.”

I rolled the suitcase into the master
bedroom downstairs, ignoring her comment.

“
Phillip, did you hear
me?” Her voice, now a little shrill, was getting on my
nerves.

“
We’re not selling.” How
could I? I wanted to create new memories here and somehow push past
the specters of my past. I dropped the handle of the suitcase on
the floor with a thud. The mattress was covered in a giant plastic
sheet. It was a double bed. Not even a queen. We would be sleeping
on top of one another. I heard her come through the doorway behind
me.

“
Shit,” she said. “What
size is that?”
My parents had slept on a double bed their entire lives. Not like
the giant king-bed that my wife and I shared, practically sleeping
in different time zones.

“
It’s a double,” I said. I
turned toward her, the scowl on her face deepening as she looked at
me. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She shrugged. “Whatever suits your
fancy.” She turned on her heel and left me, staring at the barren
mattress.

Loud thuds from upstairs startled me
from my reverie. The boys were choosing bunk beds from the upstairs
loft. I heard the sound of doors opening and closing. Exploring.
Doing what boys do.

“
Come get your luggage!”
my wife shrieked and the noises stopped momentarily, followed by
the patter of their stockinged feet on the stairs.

I went into the kitchen. The
refrigerator was not on, so I found the dusty old plug and stuck it
in the socket, waiting for the whir of the motor. Nothing. I hadn’t
thought of that, either.